Some things you should know before reading this ( though they don't come up in the story):
.Kurt works at Vogue. com. He doesn't work on weekends.
.Rachel and Kurt don't live together. Kurt and Blaine do.
.Rachel and Blaine are brother and sister, that's why she can go into the apartment when she pleases.
.This story is a one-shot and it's practice.
. I'm extremely grateful that you read this.
Thanks. Enjoy.
Bless the weekends.
Usually he would be brooding over going to work right about now, but it was the weekend and he didn't have to get up to go anywhere today.
That reigns true until about 30 seconds when his stomach starts grumbling.
He deliberately groans out his aggravation as he rolls over on his bed. He wiggles about for a minute until his face causes a dulled thud to resonate around the room. He rubs at the burgeoning bruise as he untangles himself from the heap of covers he just put on the floor. Boy that was gonna look bad in a couple of minutes he thought as he bustled down the stairs.
Plucking at the gray threads on his tank he stops abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, was that singing he heard ? Who the hell is humming show tunes in his kitchen ?
He quickly grabs one of Blaine's polo clubs as he prepares to answer his own question. He has one foot in the kitchen before he readies himself and prepares to swing.
His motion is cut off mid-swing by a " Good Mo-" then followed by a scream from both persons. A loud clamor is heard in the apartment downstairs.
" Rachel, What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?!" he asks, still getting over the shock.
"What the hell am I doing? Why were you about to strike me down?" she says ,still eying the club that had dropped on the floor.
"Well maybe if you hadn't broken into my apartment like some fucking burglar I would've greeted you nicely, maybe." he said,picking up the club and placing it back in the hallway closet.
"Since when do you play golf ?" she inquired.
"It's polo and I don't. It's Blaine's." he stated as Rachel nodded.
"Well I made pancakes." she gestured awkwardly to the pan full of batter on the stove.
"Blueberry whole grain ?"
"You bet." she chuckled.
The two took their seats at opposite ends of the round table but the damned thing nearly toppled over with the combined weight of two plates. Kurt couldn't help but curse his and Blaine's apartment for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Once they settled the rackety thing they returned to eating their food in peace.
What a good way to start of Saturday morning.
Thank you for reading.
